


We are chained and our hearts are vain

by casuallydying125



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Death Eaters, Draco Malfoy & Pansy Parkinson Friendship, Eating Disorders, F/F, Good Pansy Parkinson, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, LGBTQ Character of Color, LGBTQ Themes, Lesbian Pansy Parkinson, POV Pansy Parkinson, Pansy Parkinson is a Good Friend, Pureblood Society (Harry Potter), Young Death Eaters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-24 05:14:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30067206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casuallydying125/pseuds/casuallydying125
Summary: Pansy Parkinson.Young, lost and in love.With a dark mark on her arm, a broken family and forced to marry Draco Malfoy so that she won't be a bride to someone much worse. It is certainly not the time to be falling for a studious Grffindor, who stands on the opposing aside. But something feels so right about this love.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy & Pansy Parkinson, Hermione Granger/Pansy Parkinson, Luna Lovegood/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 1
Kudos: 16





	We are chained and our hearts are vain

**Author's Note:**

> TW- eating disorders.  
> Please don't read this to trigger yourself, they way it has been portrayed it is based off my own experience with Anorexia Nervosa. Eating disorders are not beautiful or pretty and I tried to convey how they rip families apart in this fic.  
> Also there will be swearing through out this fic but I don't feel the need to give warnings for those

You look beautiful, darling.''

I look at my mother through the mirror, she wears a strained smile and a make up caked face.

''But it would look much more so if you let your hair grow out,'' she says and reaches over to stroke a strand of my chin length hair. I move out the way not wanting her cold fingers to touch my skin. I don't reply, she has been nagging me to grow it out since I was five, when I first used wandless magic in a bid to keep my hair short. I have never indulged her, I like my hair short. 

''I don't need to look beautiful,'' I reply, finally looking around to face my mother properly. I hope I never look like her, she's a corpse cladded in a paper thin layer of skin. I can see her veins through the skin, like rivers. One day I hope she wakes up and chooses to live and not wander through the world as an emaciated skeleton. There is a name for this mental infliction in the muggle world but because of the magic that keeps her from the grave and pureblood pride she has never asked for help. Even after I begged saying, that if she truly loved me she would stop, she just smiled and shook her head sadly. I guess she just doesn't love me enough.

''Yes but it never hurts,'' she retorts. 

I want to scream at her, of course it hurts, the stares, the comments, the touches and how they think they are entitled to my body as if it were their own.

Instead, I practice a smile.

''Yes, Mother.''

I start to make my way out my room, I can't with her right now. But before I can escape she firmly grabs my shoulder with her skeletal hands and her cold infects me, it spreads. I shrug out of her grip turning around to face her once again. 

''Posture, Pansy.''

I straighten my back and stand taller and I walk away still feeling her cold in the place where she touched me.

A few minutes later, I walk into our kitchen, which traditionally was only used by house elves but Mother didn't like them meddling with her food, only to find her reorganising the larder for the third time this week. I go and make myself a sandwich and Mother jumps when she realises my presence as if she was lost in her own world before.

''Pansy, darling, do you really want to eat that?'' she enquiries, hungerly eyeing my food.

''I'm making it aren't I?''

''Do not take that tone with me, young lady,'' she says, although her eyes do not leave my mouth as I begin eating.

To spite her I go to the bread bin and pull out a Danish pastry and stuff it in my mouth violently, in rebellion. Mothers lips thin, her eyes well with tears and she runs out the room.

''Its only fucking food!'' I shout after her. 

I know I am being cruel. I know. Trust me I know. But I don't think my Mother is in that hollow shell anymore, at least thats what I tell myself to justify my hatred towards her.

The clock ticks, with each second it brings me closer to a fate I am not ready for.

Only five minutes until we apparate to the Manor. Until I accept my future. Until...

''Pansy, what you are doing is right you know that don't you?'' 

I jump I hadn't even acknowledged her presence too lost in thought to notice her standing next to me. My mind scared me sometimes. She isn't looking at me but instead straight at the wall as she continues:

''It will open so many doors for you, protection, status, marriage. I don't doubt we will have you married next summer. Although, the Malfoys are currently in disgrace, they will buy their way to the top once again, hopefully with you and Malfoy heirs.''

Mother has always wanted to me to marry Draco, ever since I was young. She set up play dates, told me to make friends with him, told me to always agree he is right, told me to follow him into everything, so here I am. Her intentions were never malicious, I know that, she wanted me to marry for love and the best kinds of love were built from friendship. She wanted me to marry someone I knew and liked so I wouldn't end up like her, forced to marry a friend of her father twice her age. 

''I don't want to marry a man.''

She ignored me. She always did but it was these small acts of rebellion that gave me strength. Mother and Father found out when I was 14, they found me in the maze kissing a girl, a muggle girl called Ellena. She was so beautiful, all curves and edges, olive skin and thick hair and eyes like deep pools of water. My mother didn't say anything and she never has, maybe she blocks it out still in denial. But Father, he made me watch as he pulled every memory she had of me out her: running through fields, laughing until our lungs ached, sharing our favourite books, swimming in the lake, stealing kisses, living. After that he shouted at me for what felt like hours, I knew it wasn't, about shame and blood lines but what I most remember is the pain when he used that curse on me. That was the first time he ever cruioed, it still haunts me sometimes lurking in dreams. After that I learnt never to take girls home.


End file.
